Beast within the Hurricane
by The Disgruntled Panda
Summary: In order to combat the monster, one must become a monster. An origins story exploring the birth of SOLDIER and ShinRa's military history leading up to the Wutai War.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **FFVII is property of Square-Enix

**Foreword: **Have you ever noticed that there are FFVII fics of every kind, but few seem to predate the Wutai War? Even the time travel ones. Most of the FFVII lore just kind of starts around when Sephiroth, Genesis, and Angeal are already well established SOLDIER's. But who came before them? Everything has a beginning, right? I'm surprised Square-Enix has never bothered to thoroughly explore this, so I began contemplating the birth of SOLDIER and how the unit evolved into ShinRa's premier military force.

The idea has been brewing in my head for some time. Truthfully, this is quite an ambitious project, and if it weren't for _Pendrum_ finally caving—after repeated insistence on my part—and agreeing to co-write this with me, it probably would have never taken off.

This is not an AU. It'll be following the official FFVII timeline from the Ultimania Guide and so the chapters will be dated. The story will begin in the early 1970's (when ShinRa was still strictly a manufacturing company) and will conclude at the onset of the Wutai War in 1992.

Please be gentle. Oh, and any reviews are much appreciated. Feedback's always nice. Cover art is provided courtesy of mavhn from deviantart. Thanks again.

* * *

_**Beast within the Hurricane**_

by

The Disgruntled Panda + Pendrum

* * *

**Chapter 1 - A Chance Encounter  
****November, 1972**

This was idiocy. Pure idiocy.

Vincent Valentine was quickly growing tired of these missions. He was grateful for getting promoted to the Department of Administrative Research in rather short fashion, but really, why did ShinRa insist on sending him to neutralize these nightly raids? They were suicide missions. Did they hate him that much?

Truthfully, the missions were more interesting than the usual bodyguard detail he was assigned, but what troubled him was how inadequately prepared the support personnel accompanying him with were. Tonight was no exception. His crimson eyes studied the nervous faces of the six young security officers within the van. He glanced at their sweat stained foreheads, and down at their trembling hands before thoughts of his father, Grimoire Valentine, flashed into his mind.

"Wonderful. It appears I will be joining you tonight…" he muttered to himself.

"P-pardon me, sir?" one guard stuttered, his body still jittering.

"Tell me… Have you ever used a firearm on anyone before?"

"Y-yes, sir."

"And are you sure it wasn't friendly fire?"

"S-sir?"

"Never mind. Be alert. We're almost there."

It was quiet once more as the van moved towards the newly built mako reactor within the southern district of Midgar. The only sound came from the tires smoothly rolling across the pavement.

If he made it out alive tonight, Vincent would take his growing frustration up with the proper staff, and if necessary, even ask to speak to Heidegger directly. The coarse, bearded man was rarely approached by someone of diminutive rank, but Vincent had a feeling that if he stormed into his office with a fiery enough temperament, he would hear him out.

Enough was enough. These men they were combating were now legitimately dangerous. ShinRa called them opportunists, he called them terrorists. It began when the company started storing capital—raw material, company vehicles, electronic equipment, and scientific apparatus—inside various warehouses around the city when space within the main building grew thin. Of course, in its infinite arrogance, ShinRa had thought itself immune to crime. What it hadn't counted on was the perseverance of these impoverished, lower class citizens of Midgar.

After the first several robberies, the company began assigning security to patrol the warehouses at certain times. The opportunists adapted, quickly recognizing patterns of absence before breaking in. When ShinRa beefed up security to 24/7 status, they adapted once more, this time brandishing weapons.

What surprised Vincent initially was how apathetic ShinRa was to the loss of their security team, who foolishly fought to preserve assets, but often fell to the violent tactics of men whom simply had nothing to lose. That was made the opportunists dangerous: they didn't fear prosecution. Vincent understood that, but it seemed like many within the company didn't. These men, who grew up on the streets with nothing, would rather risk their lives for a chance at financial headroom, than go back to the shameful poverty they'd known all their existence.

Veld warned Heidegger of this, but the head of the Department of Administrative Research carelessly dismissed his claims. And when Veld persisted, he was subsequently shipped off to Wutai for several months. Heidegger had claimed he was needed there, but both Vincent and Veld knew it was punishment for insubordination.

It wasn't until the opportunists realized that one ShinRa commodity in particular yielded far more profits than the rest, when the company woke up.

It began only about a year ago, upon the installation of the first reactor in the northern sector of the city. When President ShinRa heard reports of groups breaking into the facility and extracting mako, he stormed out of his office, with a nervous mayor and police commissioner in tow.

"Mr. ShinRa, my officers are doing all they can!" the commissioner pleaded.

"Do something about it or I will!" ShinRa had roared.

With conventional ShinRa security failing, and even the local police force proving to be ineffective against the unpredictable, guerrilla style tactics of the mako hoarders, the company began actively training its own armed officers. But the company had no military experience. It was merely a manufacturing plant. And so, what did a company that trained these relatively inexperienced men do with them? Why, assign them under the command of only slightly more experienced men such as Vincent.

With another sigh, he looked out the front window as the van turned onto an industrial road, bringing the tall, grey cylindrical silo that was the reactor into view. Instinctively, his hand rested on his holster as he felt his pistol. He wondered what kind of weapons he would encounter tonight as he pulled it out and checked the mag before motioning for the men to get ready.

The van came to a halt directly outside the caged fence leading to the silo entrance. "Weapons check." His words were sharp, carrying urgent authority as everyone jumped out. "Follow my lead. Remember, we move as a team. No one tries to take matters into his own hands." He surveyed the agitated young faces as they cocked their weapons. One of the officers appeared ready to throw up. "Do any of you have women back home?"

"Yes sir!" four of them replied in unison.

"Then it's imperative that you stay alive if you wish to see them again." With a deep breath, Vincent led them past the caged entrance, where two dead security guards lay. Despite months of rigorous training, his heart began to beat faster, and it approached an uncomfortable level the moment he spotted a large hole at the side of the silo. It was definitely caused by an explosion; of this he had no doubt.

Vincent began signaling simple orders. Upon receiving a simultaneous nod, he ventured inside, sincerely hoping this wasn't his last mission, just so he could strangle Heidegger himself afterwards. If only Veld could be here with him. ShinRa personnel were stretched thin tonight as his comrade was dealing with an infiltration in the northern district. It was clever really, how the two attacks were coordinated as far apart as possible to make a consolidation effort near impossible. He had to give the opportunists strategic credit there.

The unmistakable stench of mako hit his nostrils the moment he entered the dimly lit hallway that connected to the warehouse. It was a smell that stung and burned the tip of the nose the same way a frozen morning wind would. As he and his team ventured closer towards the opening to the warehouse, Vincent heard bickering voices.

"Idiot, are you trying to get us poisoned? This stuff's toxic!"

"Oh, I'm sorry for trying to move faster than a Tonberry! I thought we were on a tight schedule since ShinRa's probably sending in its lap dogs."

"I imagine we came faster than expected then?" Vincent stepped out of the shadows as he entered the large warehouse—it contained miniature mako tanks, all connected via an intricate series of pipes.

Whatever element of shock he'd hoped to achieve in order to intimidate his foes disappeared the moment he laid eyes on twelve masked men, several armed. He had seriously miscalculated.

There was no pause or hesitance on their part as they opened fire, forcing Vincent to curse and leap for cover behind a mako tank as a shrill cry of bullets pierced the dank air. He heard several clanks against the back of the pod, followed by shouts of disapproval.

"Idiot, stop! That's pressurized mako! You're gonna bury us!"

Unfortunately for Vincent, the warning came too late as he heard the angry hiss signaling a leak. It was only thanks to his rigorous training that his body reacted before his mind as he leapt for cover.

The violent explosion came mere seconds later, generating enough force to sending him crashing straight into another pod. With his vision distorted, and the shrill ringing in his ears intensifying, he blinked several times, trying to rid himself of his daze.

Where was his gun? He'd lost his gun.

The ringing continued for several more seconds until he heard unmistakable footsteps from behind. He turned, only to be greeted with a metal pipe that struck his left shoulder. He felt something crack but couldn't afford the luxury of succumbing to pain as he quickly executed a leg sweep to knock his masked attacker down. Wasting no further time, he began to wrestle him with his right arm, trying desperately for a sleeper hold.

They thrashed about for several seconds before a sharp kick to Vincent's back forced him off. Fiery crimson eyes shot up at the person in question, who delivered another kick. This one proved unsuccessful as Vincent leapt at him, placing the man in a headlock while dragging him down.

"Get him off me!" The frantic man thrashed about, trying desperately to break the lock.

Vincent just needed his left side to regain feeling. If his senses came back, then maybe he cou—

The blow to his back hurt infinitely more than the first time. His hold on the man weakened as he was thrust off and left to roll around in excruciating pain.

Where were his men? He turned to see two ShinRa officers suffering similar fates at the hands of four masked men; while three lay lifeless, covered in a mixture of debris, blood and mako. There was only one guard who wasn't accounted for.

"Finish this miserable suit off!" someone cried as Vincent's surroundings began to fade.

So this was it, the end of the road for what had seemed like such a promising career? And all by the age of twenty two no less, only two years removed from his father's death.

At the recollection of Grimoire once more, Vincent decided to remain strong and not to grant his enemies the satisfaction of resignation. With unwavering resolution, he opened his eyes to face his maker.

"Oh, you wanna watch yourself die then, pretty boy?" the one holding the pipe taunted as he prepared to strike.

Even in his weakened state, Vincent managed to spit up at his mask.

"You're finished!" The weapon came down and Vincent braced, but to his surprise, the blow never materialized.

An outstretched arm clutched the attacker's wrist. "No… This guy's already helpless and this isn't what we do. I didn't sign up for this."

"Gainsborough, what in Odin's name, are you doing?"

"Wow… Way to call my name out like that, genius." With a roll of his eyes, he sighed and took off his mask. "Might as well get rid of this since you just made me in front of a ShinRa operative."

"All the more reason to kill him." The masked man shrugged him off and threw a shove for good measure. "Now know your place Gainsborough, or we'll leave you with this soon to be dead fool!"

"You're right…" he nodded. Then he quickly snatched a pistol from an unsuspecting colleague and fired at a nearby mako tank.

The violent explosion that trailed the thunderous sound—which sent the men crashing to their knees and covering their ears—spewed toxic green bile everywhere. For a second, Vincent didn't know if he was dead or not until he opened his eyes and found himself being dragged to safety by his young savior.

"What in Gaia… are you doing?" he coughed out, fighting consciousness.

"Saving your ass, pretty boy." He slung Vincent's arm around his shoulder and hoisted him up. "Can you walk?"

The raven haired ShinRa operative coughed again as they began to scurry away. "Gainsborough is it?"

The brunette afforded another eye roll. "Thank Odin. For a second I thought you might've forgotten."

"Tell me Gainsborough," Vincent coughed blood this time as he heard several disoriented cries from behind, "are you an idiot?"

"That's what my last girlfriend said. Joke's on her because while she's suffering on a beach in Costa del Sol right now, I'm having the time of my life right here, dragging suit wearing slaves around while getting shot at."

Vincent didn't realize the furious buzzing were bullets sailing past. They picked up their pace and made for the dim, musty connecting hallway, the same one he'd come through. "I never… asked you… to save me…"

"I could drop you right here you know," Gainsborough shot back, both literally and figuratively, as he exchanged gunfire with his assailants while scurrying towards the exit. "To be honest, I'm kinda considering it. You weigh more than my two exes combined. And they liked to eat!"

"You're dead Gainsborough!" Their screams were livid.

"If you kill me, who's gonna pleasure your sisters?" he taunted.

The volume of bullets that came their way increased dramatically in the next few seconds. Vincent was positive he was mad.

"I _was_ looking for new friends anyways," Gainsborough mused, slightly out of breath, as he emptied his clip and chucked it for good measure before pushing Vincent out of the hole they'd now reached.

Instantly, Vincent shielded his eyes as bright headlights focused on the pair of them. Squinting, he made out the Shinra logo on several company cruisers as dozens of armed guards poured out.

So that explained the fate of the unaccounted officer…

"You are trespassing on official ShinRa property!" a voice shouted over a microphone. It sounded like Veld, but he couldn't be sure in his dazed state. "Surrender immediately! If you comply, you will be spared! If you do not, we will open fire!"

"Better… do… what they say…" Vincent felt his arm being slipped off Gainsborough's shoulder as his body became numb. He'd lost a lot of blood. "I'll… talk them… into… going… easy on you."

"I'll take my chances inside," Gainsborough said, retreating back into the hole, seconds before Vincent blacked out.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2 – The Captain  
May, 1973**

Summoned to the 66th floor. A first for him.

With laden disposition, the muscular man heaved a sigh as the elevator doors dinged open and he shuffled inside. His fingers pressed the cold button signaling the elevator up.

The sterile doors whooshed shut as he felt a quick, but momentary, jerk upwards. His dull eyes glanced out the spotless window behind him, observing the cityscape of Midgar as he ascended into the sky.

The city was a marvel, the pinnacle of civilization's achievements. Founded less than one hundred years ago, Midgar had blossomed into the world power it stood as today, acting as a commercial and social hub for the entire planet. With its heightened reputation and fame came the masses, many to visit, most choosing to stay indefinitely, inevitably succumbing to the allure of a bourgeoning metropolis.

Midgar wasn't like the other cities. True, it was beginning to acquire a rather brown reputation in some parts as the population continued to grow and leave its taint, but despite its flaws, the city possessed life. Despite the spread of corruption—what with all the questionable government actions, and the ongoing war between the mako hoarders and ShinRa Manufacturing Works—Midgar's fast paced nature was a breeding ground for business and technology, catalyzed by ShinRa's own desire to rapidly modernize its surroundings. The city bustled with an unrivaled activity and air of social interaction not seen elsewhere, not even Junon. It was no surprise the monopolistic manufacturing company had set up its primary base of operations in the center of the large concrete jungle.

The elevator finally dinged, signaling arrival earlier than expected as the doors opened on the 59th floor, inviting a wave of air inside the metal and glass compartment.

Confused, he stepped out, surveying his terribly ordinary and bare surroundings. Compared to other floors, this one was quite large but barren, like a deserted lobby. Plain white walls surrounded him in all directions. The only thing of interest was an adjacent elevator located within a thick island column several meters ahead.

His heavy boots thudded softly but swiftly against spotlessly tiled marble flooring engraved with the company's familiar logo. The pattern stretched everywhere. The newly installed fluorescent lights overhead were quiet, never humming a sound as their bright luminance lit up the large but desolate area. It was a new form of electricity apparently, courtesy of breakthroughs using mako technology.

Reaching the adjacent elevator, he frowned at the sight of only one button in existence. As if on cue, the doors chimed open, forcing him to take a tentative step back. Inside was a well-tailored young man clad in a dark business suit. He stepped out just as the doors chimed shut.

The man appeared no older than his early twenties, sporting neatly cut, straight black hair with bangs that ran down across his cheeks. He had thin, pursed lips and a stern demeanor, further magnifying the possible importance of this impromptu meeting.

"The Captain, I take it?" His voice was low and cold, complementing his strict and upright posture.

He nodded once. "And you?"

"Vincent. Vincent Valentine." Dark, studious eyes seemed to screen his. "I'm with the Department of Administrative Research."

He quirked an eyebrow. "And what is that, exactly?"

"We supply the President and his most sensitive staff with services that suit their needs." Lingo for grease work.

He wasn't ignorant of ShinRa's morally questionable practices. He was aware the company had men who were called to diffuse any potentially volatile situations. He was just surprised at how young their employees seemed to be. Perhaps this man was an exception? "How long have you been working here?" He instantly regretted asking, feeling the question was out of line.

Despite being younger than himself, his sharply dressed escort obviously possessed a great deal more authority. It would be wise to watch his tongue around those more intricately tied to the company from now on. Vincent's reaction—much to his surprise—was mere enquiry. "Why do you wish to know?"

The Captain shrugged, hoping to diffuse the situation quickly. "I'm called to an executive floor for the first time in my employment here, not knowing what to expect, only to be dropped off an in area devoid of staff. I'm then greeted by a man looking ready to remove my name from the payroll." His trained eyes instinctively lowered to the concealed weapon inside Vincent's ironed suit, where gloved hands rested mere inches away.

Appearing to take note of his visual trajectory, Vincent smiled ruefully. "Captain, I assure you, if the company wished to do so, it would've occurred already, and without you ever meeting your maker." The perverse words of assurance did nothing to quell his surging emotions. Vincent extended a palm towards the elevator. "Shall we?" He produced a key card, swiping it for the 66th floor.

As the windowless elevator steadily rose, The Captain was relegated to staring at the metallic door. He could see Vincent doing the same, but knew that the young operative was studying him from his periphery. Subconsciously, he remained tense, half expecting a surprise execution.

The short ride up appeared to last a lifetime—though it was no longer than a half minute—before the doors finally chimed and they stepped out.

"Follow me," Vincent stated, taking lead as his black leather shoes click-clacked against the marble tiling in the hall.

As The Captain trailed him, employees bustling about greeted Vincent, but ignored him. He couldn't blame them; after all, he was more of a grunt than an actual cog of the ShinRa system – expendable and easily replaced despite his three years of ongoing service.

It made sense. ShinRa was a large scale manufacturer. What relevance did a man transferred to the newly assigned Military Operations Division—or M.O.D as the staff began to call it—have in most matters? As far as the company was concerned, the enforcement services he provided could easily be provided by any hardened warrior looking to make a quick gil on the market. He was not special, and he had to keep reminding himself of the fact no matter how much it deflated his pride.

The Captain was sure that Vincent was a more capable enforcer than most of the muscle ShinRa employed. It was for this reason he found it strange that the company deemed it necessary to dedicate a sizeable budget to its new military program, instead of simply training more men like Vincent. Regardless, he wasn't about to complain, as their decision led to his promotion.

He knew that the war against the mako hoarders was intensifying and that regular ShinRa security simply weren't getting it done. As for the Midgar police, they were incompetent and possibly even corrupt, likely accepting bribes from the hoarders to look the other way. It was the only explanation for how poor of a job the city was doing in protecting ShinRa's assets.

And so, floor 49 had been born—previously belonging to the bloated Environmental Division, which was downsized and relocated in the past year—the new home for all of ShinRa's military endeavors. This was ShinRa simply saying it had had enough, and was going to do something about it.

Rounding one more ornately decorated hallway adorned with a series of exotic paintings on both walls, The Captain stopped a distance away from a large meeting room once it came into view. It was a large room, with a panel of frosted glass stretching from end to end, obscuring the people within.

He couldn't believe it. This was where the power of ShinRa met and brainstormed, and now he was only a short pace from it. What could they possibly want to warrant him coming up here? Something important had to be in order, for his responsibilities never entailed a trip higher than the 50th floor. Until today, his menial enforcement mission logs were delivered through a series of messages via PHS, a newly engineered device capable of transmitting and receiving data over a wireless network—the idea was ludicrous just a few short years ago. The rapid acceleration of technology never ceased to amaze him.

Beginning to feel a dab of perspiration on his forehead, The Captain accepted he was indeed nervous, despite having convinced himself otherwise earlier.

Hearing no echo behind his own set of footsteps, Vincent paused and turned swiftly. "Something wrong, Captain?"

The Captain shook his head. "No."

Vincent nodded curtly and motioned to the frosted glass doors. "They're waiting."

With silent exhalation, The Captain stopped short of the door as Vincent opened it for him and ushered him in. For a brief second, he exchanged silent words of uncertainty with the young operative, before his attention shifted.

The room—beautiful decorated and lavishly furnished—was unlike what he had expected. The walls were covered with lavish paintings, complimented by an assortment of plants, figures and miniature statues underneath. Each corner of the room contained marble pillars housing intricately designed vases. The opposing glass wall provided a magnificent view of the city below, painting a glimmering picture of thousands of electric lights.

In the middle was a rectangular boardroom table. Seated at the far end, was none other than the President himself, a broad shouldered man with large arms that symbolized the strength of his company. He was dressed in a lavish maroon suit that seemed custom tailored. His short, neatly combed blond hair accented a hardened but otherwise clean shaven face that had not yet entirely succumbed to the rigors of running a massive firm.

To the President's right sat a young man with neatly combed hair and thin spectacles. He had his fingers pressed together, his inquisitive eyes regarding The Captain. To his right, one empty chair over, was Heidegger. His face was covered with thick, dark facial hair, and his steely eyes swirled with a hidden surliness that mystified The Captain. To his right, also another empty seat over, was a portly fellow, odd in appearance and bordering on clownish. He sat, hunched over, casually sipping tea while reading a memo.

To the left of the President was a wiry individual who appeared Vincent's age. He too, like the man across from him, sported spectacles. His hair was tied back in a ponytail and the lean nature of his frame gave off a chilling image of someone never quite satisfied, as if constantly in search of something to satiate his appetite. He was flanked by another man in white lab clothing, suggesting that the pair were scientists.

The Captain's eyes drifted unconsciously to the final person, a surprisingly attractive woman also around her mid-twenties. She was thin but beautiful. Her auburn hair flowed freely, dropping down to the armrests of her chair. Unlike the rest of the staff, she sat off to the side, almost isolated.

Instinctively, as if sensing his eyes, she looked up, causing him to hold his breath. The look she shot him felt infinite but lasted no more than several seconds before someone cleared their throat.

Vincent Valentine's low voice invaded his thoughts, forcing him to tear his eyes away from her. "Take a seat please." He gestured to the chair at the end of the table, opposite of the President.

Carefully, The Captain sat down, noticing a final person standing behind the President, almost blending into the wall. He was dressed similarly to Vincent, who fell in position with him.

"Ah, Captain." President ShinRa leaned forward.

"President ShinRa." He nodded back politely. To say he was feeling nervous was an understatement. It was his first time meeting the man.

"Please don't be alarmed," the President continued. "The nature of this meeting isn't a cause for concern." Again, The Captain looked at Vincent and his partner, still not feeling at ease. "Captain?"

His eyes met the President's stern ones. "Yes, Mr. President?"

At this, President ShinRa picked up a manila folder and began scouring through it. "I understand that you've been with us for some time?"

His stomach began to churn at the sight of the folder but he remained confident in exterior. "Three years and four months, sir."

"And eighteen days…" the President trailed off, continuing to study the contents. He finally looked up. "A respectable amount of time… Tell me, how have you liked working for us so far?"

What could he say? It was a far cry from his past life as a mercenary, taking odd jobs. The only reason he'd accepted a role within the security faction was because it tailored to his strengths—and because it was an escape from his past. "It's comfortable…" He chose his words carefully, for the numerous preening eyes suggested he was treading unchartered waters.

"You've been promoted by the security department multiple times I hear. And recently, you've become one of the few assigned to M.O.D. I hear you're quite the leader among the men there. Many of them look up to you. What is it, roughly ninety men?"

He nodded. "Yes sir." It was one hundred and twenty seven. "They're excellent colleagues."

The President dismissed the comment. "Please don't sell yourself short." His eyes bore into the Captain's. "You went from nothing to Captain of security in just over three years. Impressive."

"Thank you, sir." The President was stalling, he knew it. Something else was on his mind. Why couldn't he just stop masquerading? It would dampen the fear, uncertainty and paranoia.

As if reading his mind, a smile tugged at the President's lips. "But that's not who you really are… is it? Your history indicates a more spirited past."

His blood turned ice cold. It couldn't be? Could it? Had they found out?

Heidegger spoke. "We're aware you faked your application forms when you applied." They had found out. He was finished.

For some reason, his eyes shifted towards the woman, as if she could help him, somehow. "I—"

"Captain, you're familiar with Heidegger," the President stated. Of course he knew Heidegger. Officially, he was his boss, though they'd never met. "He's in charge of all enforcement personnel."

Heidegger continued on. "It's come to our attention that you spent significant time in Wutai prior to your arrival here, a fact you failed to disclose in your history. Care to mention why?"

He was going to be fired for falsifying documents, or perhaps worse, dealt with in a covert manner by the two operatives flanking the President. He knew it. This was a setup from the start.

Suddenly, the man next to the President—the one in the grey turtleneck—spoke. "Captain, I'm Professor Gast Faremis. Please don't get the wrong idea. You're not being persecuted here."

The somber nature of the room told a different tale. He felt like an execution was about to take place. His wary eyes fell on the professor. "Respectfully, professor… what is the purpose of this visit?" The words were laced with great restraint.

The professor bowed his head solemnly, the edges of his eyes cautious. "Captain… you're aware of mako, correct?"

Of course he was. Its use had propelled the world ahead at an unprecedented rate in a span of decades. Mako was possibly the most revolutionary idea to come about, instantly raising quality of life and making energy cheap and abundant. But why were they asking him about this?

Gast continued. "As you know, mako discovery isn't that old; fifteen years to be exact."

The Captain was confused. He was a former mercenary and warrior, not a scientist or historian. "Again… professor… I don't know what help I can offer on the subject." Once more, his eyes drifted towards the beautiful woman. She observed him quietly, showing no emotion.

Gast nodded, picking up the file the President had tossed. "Our sources tell us that your time in Wutai was spent as a mercenary."

Again, the Captain's stomach twisted in a mixture of anxiety and dread, not quite knowing where the conversation was headed. "Yes…" He had already been exposed. No sense in lying further.

"And you were apparently proficient with melee weapons," Heidegger interrupted. "Blades specifically. We hear you're quite the swordsman."

He was…. Or rather… had been. "That was several years back, sir. I don't practice much with a blade any longer." It was the truth. Swords were a relic, a weapon of a different time. The world had changed. Firearms were the way now. No longer did true skill and discipline determine the outcome of battle. Now, victory was decided by how quickly one could squeeze a finger.

"Is that why you have that fine katana of yours hanging in your room?" Heidegger asked.

The Captain's blood froze. His room was private. Had he been monitored this whole time? "How did—"

"We run extensive background checks on everyone within our ranks. Don't feel offended."

Gast immediately cut in, looking to pacify the situation. "Please understand, it's simple ShinRa protocol, conducted to ensure the safety of everyone." The Captain remained quiet. "Let's get back on track. The purpose of this discussion isn't to discuss your origins, which given your appearance, are obviously are not from Wutai."

"Then what is the purpose of this discussion?"

The room was quiet for a second. "Our curiosity stems from your proficiency in close range weaponry."

Just what exactly did they want? He frowned and looked around before addressing Gast. "I don't see how this ties into the earlier question. What does my past have to do with mako?"

Gast smiled politely. "We're examining a radical idea and require a man with a great degree of unconventional training, someone of great resolve. Your background as a warrior alludes to that."

"No, professor," The Captain interrupted, making sure not to insult the man with his tone, "I mean, what is the relevance of the mako to me?"

A sudden, grating cough from the wiry scientist to the left of the President caught everyone's attention. Adjusting his circular spectacles, the frail man delivered a sinister smile before saying, rather impishly, "It's simple… We wish to use it on you."


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3 – Crystallization of Fear  
May, 1973**

As he stepped off onto the third floor and headed towards the living quarters, his mind continued to race at the startling revelations placed upon him earlier.

It was frightening—rather, it had been at first—when he'd found out that they knew of his history working as a mercenary in Wutai for several years prior to his arrival at ShinRa. It shouldn't have been a surprise, for them to discover details about his lengthy past, given that he was nearly thirty. What did surprise him was that they'd known for some time and not bothered to disclose it, suggesting his former life on the western continent was not a troubling matter to them.

It was news that followed that affected him to a far greater degree.

The Captain was well aware of the explosion in use of mako energy by ShinRa for electric power, but never in his wildest dreams had he envisioned the possibility of harnessing its essence and feeding it into a living being for the purpose of physical enhancement. The thought sounded absurd—and dangerous.

How could a toxic, viscous green liquid used to power the planet ever be considered safe enough to residing within a living being? Despite brief but thorough explanations from the scientists in the room, the Captain had found himself shocked at the notion of the idea even being entertained.

Project Greenlight was what they called it.

He still couldn't believe they were contemplating conducting an initial test soon, with him as the desired candidate. The notion was preposterous. Despite ShinRa's strong arming nature towards its competitors, he never believed it possessed the ethical capacity—or lack thereof—to ever attempt anything so potentially dangerous and harmful on anybody.

Had he misread them? Coming from the unforgiving fields and forests of Wutai, where savages fought one another under misconstrued notions of honor and pride, he'd assumed Shinra's highly structured nature alluded to civility and respect towards the common man.

What was he thinking? What were they?

As he reached his room, he paused, overcome with shock at the sight of the beautiful woman from the meeting earlier.

Lucrecia Crescent, the female scientist who had captivated him for some inexplicable reason, stood nervously by the door, fidgeting with her hands. Despite his often stern and disciplined demeanor, the Captain found himself suddenly relaxed and at ease. She possessed some unquestionable ability to pacify his temperament and put him at ease.

"Dr. Crescent?" he politely acknowledged, stopping short of the door.

A wisp of a smile took hold of her beautiful but sullen face. "Lucrecia, please…" Her voice was delicate and soft, appropriate given her appearance.

The Captain nodded. "How can I help?" It did not escape his thought that ShinRa could have sent her with insidious intentions, perhaps aware during the earlier meeting, that she'd exerted an untold influence over him. He had to be careful.

"About the meeting…" She paused, as a group of guards passed by, nodding respectfully to them. "I hope you understand that this new process we're talking about isn't something we just conjured up. ShinRa has spent the last ten years with a team of brilliant scientists and geneticists studying the effects of mako and its possible advantages on living beings."

"And its disadvantages?" he countered, crossing his arms over his chest.

"We're aware of those too, having done tests on several creatures. I can assu—"

"With respect, Dr. Crescent," he said sternly, noticing her wince, "not all living beings react similarly to tests. As a scientist, you should be more than aware that we don't all possess the same genetic makeup."

Another small, polite smile surfaced from her thin lips. "Lucrecia, please…" Her smile widened a little. "And I never claimed they did. Please… if you'll just spare me a few minutes to explain in more detail."

The Captain sighed and checked his watch. His shift wouldn't start until late morning—one of the busier times for ShinRa dissenters to make their presence felt or heard—so he had several hours to kill. "I haven't eaten yet…" It was a bold statement, risky in the sense that it could be misconstrued for an inappropriate advance, but also clever to suggest he had reason not to engage in conversation right now.

Her eyes fluttered. "Neither have I…" Her brown eyes captivated him. "How about we discuss this over a quick dinner in the cafeteria? I hear the food's quite terrible but I've never tried it. My treat."

* * *

"Fear knows no bounds…" The older, bearded warrior circled around him swiftly but quietly, footsteps hollow to the air, indicating elegant strides. He kept his blade extended towards him, tracking his circular movement. "It is the ultimate antagonist, raping you of your sanctuary, raping you of your beliefs, raping you of your honor."

His eyes narrowed as the older man moved swiftly to strike, bringing his katana down with controlled fury. It was all he could do to parry the violent blow, being knocked back several feet before regaining balance.

The older warrior backed away, continuing to circle him once more. "Fear is an element. It is a weapon. It is an enemy. It is choice. It is suffrage. But to conquer fear, you must first learn not to accept it, or even embrace it, but to craft it."

"Craft it, Master Godo?" he asked.

"Forge fear into the hearts of others, and you will become immortal." Again, Godo's movement was swift as he came in for a strike. Bright blue eyes honed in at his trajectory to anticipate the angle of the attacking weapon. His blade came up to meet glittering steel as a resonating echo erupted throughout the clearing in the forest.

He had no time to react as the katana disengaged and changed course, swinging towards his abdominals. With a downward sweep of his blade to cast the hungry weapon aside, he backed off, putting distance between them. He extended his arms forward, hands tightly secured around the hilt of his bastion. His breathing had become more ragged, with sweat trickling down his forehead. It amazed him how Godo—a man nearly twice his age—could match, if not outlast him in the stamina department, defying all biological logic. Yet this should have been expected of Godo Kisaragi: a fierce and noble warrior dedicated to bettering himself throughout his existence, not content with allowing age to slow him down.

"Tired already, Desh?" Godo asked, a hint of ridicule in his voice. "I thought the young ones ran circles around their elders." He readied his gleaming blade, raising it high. "Strike swiftly and with grace!" He pointed his katana at him and leapt forth with uncanny speed.

Desh's eyes briefly widened as he deflected the strike, barely having time to breath before reacting to another, and yet another, continuing to do so for as many as five more successive lashes before succumbing to a quick trailing fist that struck him across the chin.

It was all the time his master needed as his katana removed Desh's blade from his grip, leaving him defenseless while the edge of Godo's curved blade rested against his exposed neck, prompting him to halt his breathing. "Remember, a warrior's weapons do not begin and end with only the blade. Consider everything at your disposal. Respect your surroundings, for they contain many hidden weapons as well. Be keen. Be wary. See all. Hear all. Embrace all." Furtive eyes glanced at turbulent ones. "Control your emotions… or they'll be your downfall."

"I yield," the younger man finally said, his agitated eyes never leaving the glint of the blade. "I… I can't beat you. It's not possible, master…"

Godo frowned, lowering his katana and stepping up to him. "Excessive pride is a warrior's vice, but so too is his lack of confidence." His eyes were hard. "To resign yourself to mediocrity is to relinquish your pride as a warrior. Never forget and underestimate the power of the warrior's honor." He backed away and looked up at the morning sky. "Embrace your dreams. If you want to be a hero, you need to have dreams... and honor. That is the essence and code of the warrior: purity in its simplest form."

The words struck with such force and impact that it left him more dazed than the accumulation of all earlier blows he'd received from Godo. "I…" Godo watched him expectantly. "I understand…." He finally nodded, glancing at his fallen blade, the Murasame.

"That concludes this morning's session. We'll head back for morning provisions." Godo began to polish his katana with a cloth.

Desh eyed him uncertainly for a moment, hesitating on his next words. "Master?"

He paused to meet his gaze, sheathing his katana. "Your thoughts, young one?"

Desh exhaled. "What if…" He paused, reflecting for a moment. "What if I don't have what it takes… to be like you? What if despite all my teachings, I find I don't possess the spirit or purity of a warrior?"

Godo began walking out of the clearing and into the forest, the twigs snapping underneath his sandals. "The journey to enlightenment is not one that is reached so expediently. It travels up every warrior's path differently. When purity takes hold of you, you will feel it."

"How do you know?" Desh called out, glancing at his disappearing figure.

"Because…" Godo turned to regard him with a proud smile. "…I trained you." And with that, his teacher disembarked into the forest towards the village to prepare for the rest of the morning.

Desh's curious blue eyes danced across his surroundings briefly before he glanced at Murasame lying amidst the dirt and grass. Carefully picking it up, he examined the straight steel with tender eyes, carefully running the tips of his fingers across the sharpness of the blade, being cautious not to draw blood.

Unfortunately, he wasn't careful enough as an acute sensation pricked his senses. Pain resonated throughout his index finger as he pulled back, the blade having successfully pierced his skin to produce a trickle of blood. He watched for a moment, as the crimson built up along the edge of his fingers, before gracefully succumbing to gravity and plummeting to the grass below. For a while, he simply watched in fascination as a part of him returned to the soil, and to the planet. Finally, after deciding he'd returned enough blood to the earth, he glancing disapprovingly at his blade.

Polishing the stained spot on Murasame, he eyed its elegance once more before sheathing it and venturing into the forest after his master.

* * *

"A penny for your thoughts, partner?" Veld approached the contemplative man seated in the cafeteria.

Vincent looked up instinctively, offering the barest of smiles before nodding. "I haven't seen you all day. What inane tasks did they have you oversee?" He took a sip of his tea.

"You know Heidegger…" Veld trailed off, taking a seat across from him and setting his own cup down. "That man has no idea how to ascertain any information from anyone. If you look up the antonym of diplomatic in the dictionary, I'm quite positive you would find his photo there."

Vincent, of course, knew Veld was referring to the recent mission involving the interrogation of several people suspected of tampering with the brand new mako reactor in Sector 1. "The man is a clown, lacking any tact and subtlety. Not everything has to be solved with violence." Of course, Heidegger had disagreed, opting to use his lackeys—the poorly trained and overly aggressive members of the newly instituted M.O.D—to instill fear into said suspects by beating them within inches of their lives.

Heidegger was an idiot. Of this, Vincent had no doubt. How the man had come to be put in charge of ShinRa's security division was anyone's guess. He must have had some incriminating evidence against the President to be able to attain such high rank, given his meager IQ.

What the head of security had failed to anticipate had been the large public outcry of blatant human rights violations from some very vocal citizens throughout the city following the most recent incident. It went on for several weeks, initially ignored by President ShinRa and the rest of the company, until news of public dissent began popping up all the way in Junon, and before long, even reaching Mideel and Costa Del Sol. At the threat of rapidly expanding bad publicity that would no doubt hurt the company's PR if not tamed, Palmer suggested that they initiate some damage control.

And so it had been up to Vincent and Veld to go on a series of missions throughout the land to various towns and establishments, offering uplifting speeches of assurance, providing gifts to mayors and promising electric power to areas still untouched by ShinRa's technology.

Yet despite their efforts, certain communities appeared adverse to their offers and presence, namely the western continent of Wutai, where they were greeted with scathing venom and disapproval. Their animosity had left Vincent shocked but for the very first time, cognizant of just how ShinRa was perceived throughout certain parts of the world.

Prior to Heidegger's monumental mishap, Vincent had always naively assumed that the gradual transition of lamps and fires to the more advanced—and efficient—mako powered electricity would prove favorable to the company, ushering them in the good graces of the public. How wrong he had been. Even more shocking, was that Wutai contained virtually no ShinRa presence to begin with, yet they still regarded them with such hostility.

"You look tired," Veld said. "You know, at the rate you're incurring stress, I wouldn't be surprised to see you age far more swiftly than your peers. Before you know it, you'll be looking in your fifties instead of your twenties. Life's too short…" He took a contemplative sip of his tea. "It's not worth it."

Vincent allowed himself a short smile. "Speaking of worse for wear…" he studied his companion, one of the few people he felt comfortable enough to discuss matters other than work with. "When was the last time you slept?"

"Right before I joined." Studious eyes scanned the room before stopping at something.

Curious, Vincent turned around as well, his irises settling on a table across the far side of the room. Seated were two familiar individuals: Lucrecia and the Captain. Frowning, Vincent continued to peer across the sea of heads towards the two. Despite his training of how to read another's lips, there was absolutely no way to know for certain what the nature of their conversation entailed amongst the cacophony of chatter and sea of bodies around the lounge.

"Looks like someone's discovered a new infatuation," Veld mused.

Vincent didn't find the comment particularly funny, nor did he appreciate his partner's smirk. Frowning, he straightened his jacket and tie. "It's none of my business."

"You're jealous." Ever so attentive, Veld was; far too much so.

Vincent cast his eyes away, towards another corner of the room in irritancy. "Lucrecia and I are grown adults. We don't react to such frivolities with child-like tendencies."

"A more elegant way of stating that you're jealous," Veld mused once more, the corners of his eyes wrinkling in amusement at the obvious signs of agitation in his partner's demeanor.

"You're aware that I'm carrying my gun on me right now." Vincent's eyes were serious.

Veld cleared his throat, his face finally going neutral. "So… the meeting."

Vincent quirked an eyebrow, finishing the last of his tea. "What about it?"

"What did you think?"

"Mako in humans?"

Veld nodded. "A disturbing notion. No doubt conjured from the twisted mind of Hojo. I could never see Gast introducing such an idea to begin with."

At the mention of the first scientist, Vincent's eyes glazed over, a hint of bitterness encompassing his features. He paused to stare past the rows of tables and the dining employees, and out the large windows, taking in the brilliant lights of the city outside. "If Gast endorses it, then it must mean there's some validity to it, no?"

Veld nodded. "It seems that Lucrecia shares your sentiment." He motioned to her with his head again. "She seems to be over there, trying to convince the Captain of the program's favorable potential and what it could mean to future personnel."

Vincent squinted at his partner. "You can't possibly hear them from here."

Veld chuckled. "I lingered for a few moments before coming here. The nature of their conversation is purely professional at this stage. So fear not, old friend, for your lady friend is still single for another day."

Outwardly he didn't express it, but Vincent was both pleased and impressed. Pleased in his own selfish way that the meeting between the two consisted of nothing more than business, and impressed at his partner's craftiness. He never underestimated just how inquisitive and keen Veld was. Aside from himself, if anyone was fit to lead the suddenly expanding Department of Administrative Research in the near future, it would be Veld. Vincent would have been more than happy to provide a recommendation on his friend's behalf.

"Realistically though, what do you think the odds of success are?" Veld broke his train of thought.

"Regarding mako infusion with a human?" He hadn't truly given it much logical thought other to deem the idea entirely absurd upon first hearing about it.

"Yes, do you think it'll be as disastrous as you claim?" Vincent made no secret of his disapproval to the idea beforehand on multiple occasions.

"Worst case scenario, he'll be killed within a matter of seconds following the injection of mako; most likely due to poisoning. I just can't envision the body accepting it."

Veld nodded, becoming quiet for a moment as he too finished the last of his tea. "And what if it succeeds? What if the body doesn't reject it?"

Vincent pondered the thought for a while, never having dared imagine such a possibility. "Best case scenario, he ends up glowing for a week before vomiting out the entirety of his internal organs."


End file.
